Quinn sighs into the mug of hot chocolate Leroy Berry hands to her before taking a seat across from her. The two have moved from the kitchen into Leroy's "office" - Which in actuality is less of an office and more of a playroom for the man, who - while he loves his husband and daughter dearly - needs a break from them sometimes. Anyone who knows Hiram or Rachel knows how intense the two can be. Leroy has always stuck out like a sore thumb in just how… non-neurotic he is. Berry family reunions… Well, it can be tasking.

So every now and again he just needs his own time, his own space. A place where he can drink a beer, eat a burger, watch the game with his pants undone in his recliner.

But now was not that time.

"Quinn?"

Quinn's eyes snap to the man, breaking her out of her glassy-eyed daze. That thoughtful look laced with worry and pain. A look Leroy has seen on Quinn more and more often in recent days.

When Quinn came to talk with Leroy that first time, she had been nervous. Still uneasy and distrustful that he could treat her with such kindness after everything she had put Rachel through over the years. When he handed her that first mug of hot chocolate, she had very nearly poured it into a houseplant when he wasn't looking out of suspicion of poison. But she is still Quinn Fabray, and she is still a semi-rational person. So instead, she just opted to not drink it.

Leroy can read a room. He can tell when someone is uncomfortable. And though he knew the entire purpose Rachel had proposed these talks between them was so he could help Quinn reconcile her religion and her sexuality, he also knew that Quinn was terrified. Even if he couldn't see it plain as day in her face, he remembers being in her shoes once upon a time. He remembers being that self-loathing bully who was too terrified of his own sexuality that he took it out on those around him.

Rachel had proposed these talks before he had ever even met Quinn Fabray. Back when all he knew about the girl was that she was the reason her daughter had to bring multiple changes of clothes to school for the past two years. He hated Quinn Fabray. And when Rachel had first suggested he speak with her, he refused outright. While he could never condone throwing your own child out onto the streets like Russey Fabray had done, Leroy also found it all but impossible to muster too much sympathy for the girl.

Even with his husband and daughter all but begging him to reconsider, Leroy stood firm by his decision.

Then Quinn Fabray showed up on their stoop, demanding bacon. The moment he saw her for the first time - sitting at her kitchen table with her arms crossed and a childish harumph in her spirit - Leroy was stricken by her eyes. They were haunted with the same look he was forced to see in the mirror throughout his youth. The eyes of a scared child who wished more than anything that they could be someone else.

There was no way he couldn't do everything in his power to help her after that.

And for a long while after that, that meant never approaching the subjects of religion or sexuality with Quinn. If he cut to the chase, she'd clam up. Backpedal. And the results would be disastrous. After all, it's what he would have done at her age.

So they talked about everything but. Sports, books, glee - and over the past two weeks, Quinn was shocked to learn how much she genuinely liked Leroy Berry. Though she never expected it, they actually had a lot in common. But truthfully, the only one who knew just how much they had it common was Leroy.

"I think it's time, Quinn."

Quinn looks up to Leroy, eyes a bit wide.

"What's that, Leroy? I'm sorry, I was…"

Leroy chuckles a bit before popping the cap off his bottle of cold beer.

"Elsewhere? I could tell."

Quinn clears her throat, a little abashed, a little annoyed with herself for trailing off in the first place.

"Yeah."

After taking a long gulp of his beer, Leroy keeps his eyes glued to the bottle, not glancing at Quinn as he asks his question,

"What kind of things did Russel say about my family and I back when you were still living with him, Quinn?"

As soon as he completes the sentence, he looks up at Quinn with piercing eyes - which of course makes Quinn's eyes dart away to avoid facing the question head-on.

"Umm… I don-"

"Please, Quinn, I understand it's not easy for you to discuss. I know you don't like to discuss Russel at all. I completely understand that. I couldn't talk about my own father for many years after he disowned me. I learned to talk about him eventually. But then when he passed, I forgot how to again. And yet here I am again, unburdened by hesitation."

Quinn scratches her fingernail back and forth across the warmed porcelain of the mug nervously, eyes flickering back up to meet Leroy's for a moment before dipping back down.

"It's hard. I just… I want to not care what he thinks about me, but I can't stop. I hate him, but the fact that he hated me first… it hurts."

Quinn's lowers her voice suddenly so it doesn't break. But the implication of her pain still remains.

Leroy nods and takes another gulp of beer before he responds.

"It never stops hurting, Quinn. But you ever seen Lawrence of Arabia?"

Quinn smirks, but with little humor behind it. She drops her eyes again.

"'The trick, William Potter, is not minding that it hurts', right?"

Leroy smiles, tapping his nose in confirmation.

"That line could be the Fabrays' official family words. No matter what you feel, push it down and put on a happy face."

Leroy's head dips toward Quinn, brows raised as he looks up at Quinn with a look of total skepticism.

"You sure you ain't thinking about Frozen? Cause that sounds more like 'Conceal, don't feel' than Peter O'Toole."

Quinn shrugs.

"Different words, same meaning."

Leroy tsks.

"Quinn, you're smarter than that. I understand your proclivity towards deflection, but you lose me when you pretend to be less intelligent than your really are."

Quinn's brows furrow - though whether in confusion or frustration is impossible to tell. At least it is until she speaks once more.

"I'm not pretending anything, Leroy. That's the only interpretation of the line that makes any sense to me."

"Then you're missing the point."

Quinn sits her steaming mug down on the coffee table between the two, leaning forward so as to engage Leroy more fiercely.

"How do you think I survived in McKinley as long as I did? As high up as I was? You can't let yourself feel. The guilt from the things you have to do to stay on the top, the terror of ever slipping up? The loneliness? You push it down and push through, or you get pushed off - into the sea of vulnerable losers. They ain't exactly what I'd call words of wisdom. I'm in goddamn therapy now specifically because following that philosophy is part of why I'm fucked up. Why I'm unfit to raise my baby. I know I can't keep pushing this shit down… But I don't know how else to deal with it."

Leroy leans forward himself, staring into Quinn with this intensity that she can't figure out what to do with.

"You deal with it by not minding that it hurts."

He reaches to the table to pick up Quinn's mug. He leans back, not breaking eye contact as he carefully and purposefully dips his fingers into the scalding hot drink, allowing the liquid to burn him for five seconds straight, never flinching. Never allowing even a squeak of pain. Finally, Leroy pulls his fingers out of the mug, setting it back down onto the table and drying his fingers off as he speaks.

"You don't deny yourself feeling. You let yourself feel it all. Even the parts that hurt. And you come to terms with the pain. Go ahead. Try it your way."

Quinn stares at Leroy, concerned but impressed. When after a moment, Leroy nods toward the mug insistently, Quinn reaches for it herself.

Before anything else, Quinn shuts her eyes. She takes a deep breath in, counts to five, then with the exhale she forces all feeling melt away. She steels her nerves as well as her mental blocks so as to not let anything back inside before she slowly dips her fingers into the steaming chocolate.

One.

Just don't feel it.

Two.

Okay, this is hotter than she expected.

Three.

Maybe if she bites her lip really hard, it'll distract her from the pain.

F-

"Shit!"

Quinn yanks her hand back, sucking her reddened fingertips into her mouth, trying to lick the pain away as Leroy takes the mug away from her and hands her his still-cold beer.

"Don't drink it, obviously. But it'll cool your hand off."

Quinn hums gratefully and rubs her burned fingers up and down the wet, cold glass.

"You see, Quinn, you can't stop the pain from coming. To feel is to live. If you feel nothing, you might as well go back to sleep. There'd be no point to anything without having emotions attached to everything. And no matter how effective you may think it is, there is no closing yourself off from your feelings. Not completely. And trying will only do tremendous damage. Instead, you have to feel it all. Even the bad stuff. Because the only way to conquer something is to know it for all that it is. If you don't understand something, you can't beat it. And until you understand it, feel it, it will always kick your ass up and down this side of Ohio. You feel me?"

Quinn nods absently as her eyes stare into nothing, the girl preoccupied with trying to process all of this. The idea that letting yourself feel bad in order to feel better seems so backwards and foreign to her. But then again, feeling good has always been just as foreign a feeling to her.

"And how do you feel about Hiram and I?"

Quinn recoils in her puzzlement at that question.

"How do you mean?"

"Do you think we deserve to burn in hell, Quinn?"

Quinn stiffens.

"Of course I don't. You're good men."

Leroy leans in toward her and takes her hand, clasping it between his own in as comforting a fashion as he can.

"Then why do you think you deserve to?"

Quinn has no answer.

—-

Benicio Lopez has been enjoying his day off, thank you very much. A long week at the hospital, combined with the fact that he and Maribel have been quietly stressing over the fact that not too long from now they're going to be the youngest and most attractive (Benicio's words)grandparents in Lima, have left Benicio feeling more exhausted than he can remember being since Santana was still a toddler wreaking havoc across the house. Now his daughter is sixteen, has a child on the way, yet is still wreaking havoc as if nothing had changed. It's just not fair.

But today? Today is a damn good day. Santana is at the Puckermans' with Brittany, Quinn is at her regular appointment with the Berry's, and Maribel is working. No noise, no sitting down for serious discussions about the future… Just a box of cold beers, the half-empty pack of cigarettes he confiscated from his daughter, and sneaking a few hours on Santana's PS4.

Today is a good day.

But sometime in between beers eight and ten, there's a knock on the door. Benicio sighs, dreading the interruption to his perfect, peaceful day. He pulls his robe closed and heads down the stairs to answer the door.

"Can I help y-"

He cuts himself off when he opens the door to find Quinn standing in the frame, shivering with anxiety.

"Quinn? Why'd you knock? The door was unlocked. Did you forget that you live here now?"

Quinn's first instinct is to steel herself before she says anything. Tamp down the lump in her throat, drown the butterflies in her belly, quieten the doubts and vitriol bouncing around her brain. But then she remembers Leroy.

She allows it all to hit her, pacing herself as she grapples with emotion after emotion before realizing at the end of it all - no matter how scared she may be, no matter how angry she may feel - it's all worth it. Because at the end of the day, Quinn loves Santana more than she hates herself.

"Mr. Lopez, I'd like to marry your daughter."